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By  Robert  Gordon  Jlnderson 

Not  Taps  but  Reveille 

The  Little  Chap 

Leader  of  Men 


Leader  of  Men 


Leader  of  Men 


By 

Robert  Gordon  Anderson 

Author  of 
"Not  Taps  but  Reveille,"  "The  Little  Chap,"  etc, 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 
Imicfcerbocfcer   press 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,   1920 

BY 
ROBERT   GORDON    ANDERSON 


CO 
MY    FATHER 


50U235 


ROOSEVELT   is   dead."     Why    should 
that  line 

Strike  to  my  heart  as  if  it  told 
The  death  of  some  close  kin  of  mine, 
Father  or  brother,  friend  of  old? 

I  never  saw  him  face  to  face — 
Just  once  some  fourteen  years  ago 

Outside  the  crowded  meeting  place, 
When  he  addressed  the  overflow, 

The  fearless  eyes,  the  firm-set  chin, 
A  man  who  loved  the  nobler  fight, 

The  short  swift  gestures  driving  in 

The  things  he  knew  were  just  and  right: 

A  newer,  deeper  reverence 

For  things  that  never  can  grow  old, 
Judgments  so  filled  with  common  sense 

Fools  did  not  realize  their  gold. 
9 


io  Leader  of  Men 

And  things  which  statesmen  scorn  to  preach- 
The  love  of  children,  home  and  wife, 

Old-fashioned  laws,  yet  ones  whose  breach 
May  sap  the  proudest  nation's  life. 

So  with  his  passing  now  it  seems 

The  old,  old  order  too  is  dead, 
The  new  with  all  its  restless  dreams, 

Revolt  and  chaos  lowers  ahead. 

Th'  oncoming  storm  in  rage  assaults 
The  rocks  that  bulwarked  all  our  past. 

And  yet  that  age  with  all  its  faults 

Held  things  to  which  we  must  hold  fast. 

The  outworn  temples  we  thought  good, 
False  gods  may  well  be  overthrown— 

The  broad  foundations  where  he  stood 
We  still  will  cherish  as  our  own. 

"  Roosevelt  is  dead."     Our  leader  gone! 

To-day  there  stands  his  vacant  chair 
Not  in  that  island  home  alone — 

By  myriad  firesides  everywhere. 


Leader  of  Men  n 

He  loved  us!     Swift  our  torches  light 
With  the  bright  fire  his  courage  gives. 

We  shall  not  falter  in  the  fight- 
Roosevelt  is  dead.     His  spirit  lives! 

R.  G.  A. 

Reprinted  by  courtesy  of  Scribner's  Magazine. 


Leader  of  Men 

IT  is  strange  to  link  his  memory  with 
a  dream.      Dreams   are   inconse 
quent,  prankish    things,   and   his 
life,  which  mattered  more  than  any  in 
our  time,  was  clearly  charted  by  Des 
tiny.     Dreams    are    of  the  dark   and 
he  ever  walked  in  sunlight.     They  are 
woven  of  gossamer,  he  was  hewn  of 
stern,  heroic  stuff. 

Yet  it  was  significant,  a  symbol,  re 
vealing  in  the  fantasies  of  the  night 
what  he  meant  to  us  in  the  glare  and 
heat  of  the  noontide.  To  us,  not  the 
great,  the  wise  men  of  the  earth,  but  the 
plain,  the  unlettered,  in  flat  and  tene 
ment  and  prairie  shack,  who  followed 
13 


H  Leader  of  Men 

him  from  afar.  To  us  who  had  only 
glimpsed  him,  on  the  distant  platform, 
the  vanishing  train,  or  as  the  storm- 
center  of  some  swirling  crowd,  and  yet 
who  felt,  when  those  first  bulletins 
came,  as  if  our  own  households  had 
been  entered  by  the  dark  messenger. 
The  dream  came  in  this  way: 
There  were  twelve  of  us  around  the 
table  that  night,  men  and  women  in 
the  common  walks  of  life,  his  humble 
followers. 

Outside  in  the  busy  world,  the 
mighty  were  quarreling  over  our  lead 
er's  mantle,  passing  judgment,  or  writ 
ing  requiems  in  their  lordly  way. 
There  was  no  greatness,  no  splendor 
within  the  room,  save  that  of  our  affec 
tion  for  him.  As  so  often  happened 
with  us,  the  hours  passed  in  talk  of  him. 
Each  in  turn,  and  according  to  his  type, 


Leader  of  Men  15 

dwelt  on  the  ray  of  that  shining  per 
sonality  which  most  had  lighted  and 
warmed  his  own  life. 

We  spoke  of  tributes  to  other  leaders 
and  longed  for  one  of  ours,  not  a  search 
ing  life  or  splendid  history — some 
simple  thing  straight  from  the  heart. 
Already  in  that  first  Christmastide 
after  his  passing  they  had  started  their 
books  about  him.  They  will  range  in 
stately  procession  down  the  years.  We 
praised  them  as  the  verdicts  of  wiser 
minds.  Then  we  faltered — and  paused. 
Even  in  the  loftiest,  we  said,  there  was 
something  missing.  What  it  was  we 
could  not  define,  some  intangible  es 
sence  of  character,  some  afterglow  of 
affection,  perhaps  the  homely  appeal  of 
the  film  taken  in  the  family  circle, 
which  no  master-portrait  can  have. 

One  says, — "That's  fine  and  won- 


1 6  Leader  of  Men 

derful  but  you  should  have  seen  him 
when — ,"  or,  "You  remember  that 
time—" 

And  this  though  he  had  never  crossed 
our  thresholds,  never  clasped  our  hands 
in  his! 

Perhaps  we  forgot,  for  the  time,  that 
nobly  austere  dirge  of  Kipling's,  but 
still  our  question  had  reason  in  it  when 
we  came  to  ask: 

Is  there  none  to  voice  the  hearts  of 
those  who  loved  him  best,  who  suffered 
most, — the  ungiftedvthe  mute? 

There  was  one  among  us,  that  night, 
somewhat  above  the  average, — a  writ 
er  of  fair  note.  He,  with  the  long 
ing  of  his  craft  for  expression  of  that 
within  his  heart,  recalled  "The  Perfect 
Tribute,"  the  touching  portrait  of  the 
beloved  chief  of  fifty  years  ago.  That 
was  ambitious.  Even  so  we  thought 


Leader  of  Men  17 

the  mellow  tones  and  dramatic  values 
of  fiction  less  fitting  than  rugged 
fact. 

He  mulled  over  this  form  and  that, 
that  tale  and  the  other.  There  were 
anecdotes  suggesting  the  theme,  events 
which  lent  the  setting.  All  were  re 
jected  by  us,  who  had  neither  critic's 
plumb  nor  square,  only  the  one  meas 
ure  of  our  love. 

Then  he  spoke  of  that  fine  last  act  of 
The  Copperhead,  in  which,  though  he 
never  comes,  Lincoln  lives,  reborn  in  an 
old  man's  memory.  Oh,  for  an  after 
glow  portrait  like  that! 

And  all  the  while  I  studied  those  in 
the  room.  The  light  of  their  faces,  the 
tones  of  their  voices  as  they  talked,  in 
themselves  were  rare,  unconscious  trib 
utes.  And  the  faces  of  others  I  had 
known,  who  loved  him,  kept  passing 


i8  Leader  of  Men 

before  me, — plain  men  and  common, 
yet  a  shining  host. 

And  so  I  felt  that  never  would  his 
portrait  be  painted,  his  story  writ,  in 
master-painting  and  lofty  book,  half 
so  clearly  as  in  the  composite  pic 
ture  made  by  his  humblest  followers, 
each  reflecting  some  facet  of  his  mighty 
soul. 

The  sum  of  their  life-stories  in  a  way 
was  his.  In  them  was  his  real  perform 
ance,  his  never-withering  laurel. 

The  hours  passed,  the  guests  de 
parted,  and  I  fell  asleep.  But  in  my 
dream  the  voices  still  carried  on.  .  .  . 

It  had  a  setting  in  half-light,  the 
vision,  but  as  well-defined  as  that  play 
of  Tolstoi's  which  the  art  of  the  young 
est  Barrymore  so  lately  illumined. 
There  was  a  spacious  room,  with  easy 
chairs  and  many  books,  trophies  and 


Leader  of  Men  19 

noble  stag-heads  upon  the  wall.  Full 
length  doors  opened  on  waters  in  the 
distance.  -Across  them  a  bright  moon- 
path  led  to  the  horizon. 

Just  without  the  circle  of  the  read 
ing-lamp,  the  Leader  himself  reclined 
in  an  easy  chair,  a  little  inert  for  one  of 
such  vitality.  He  seemed  to  be  very 
tired,  almost  pathetically  so. 

In  his  hand  he  held  a  volume. 
Though  it  was  small  and  I  was  far  off, 
with  a  dreamer's  vision  I  could  read 
the  title.  It  was  one  of  Emerson's. 
Some  sentence  or  rather  paragraph— 
for,  as  his  habit  was,  he  read  whole 
pages  with  swift  leaps  of  his  mind — 
caught  his  attention  and  he  repeated  it 
aloud: 

*  Truth  is  a  natural  force  and  no 
more  to  be  resisted  than  other  natural 
forces." 


20  Leader  of  Men 

He  paused,  and  for  a  moment  the  fig 
ure  was  instinct  with  the  old  vitality. 

Boyishly  he  uttered  that  familiar  ex 
pression  of  his: 

"By  George,  that's  fine!" 

It  did  not  sound  incongruous  in  the 
dream,  nor  was  it  without  dignity. 

Then  in  distress  he  added: 

"But  how  long,  oh  Lord,  how  long!" 

Suddenly  there  were  voices,  like 
those  of  the  guests  of  the  evening, 
soundingoutside,  on  the  moonlit  waters. 

Then  a  bright  troupe  entered  through 
the  doorway,  with  the  raiment  and  fea 
tures  of  the  Virtues,  as  in  some  old 
Morality  play.  Ahead  marched  Cour 
age  with  strong  hands  and  lion-skin 
over  his  sinewy  body,  Honesty  with 
forthright  glance,  Discipline  with  meas 
ured  tread. 

After    them,    carrying    a    compass, 


Leader  of  Men  21 

came  Single-Mind,  and  one  whom  I 
mistook  for  Beauty  because  of  the 
fairness  of  the  features,  but  it  was 
Truth.  Near  him  was  Duty  to  whom, 
though  an  unpretentious  fellow,  they 
all  deferred.  Then  followed  Tender 
ness,  Generosity,  Sacrifice,  and  others, 
nobly  virile  or  gentle,  gracious  figures. 
And  over  them  constantly  played  a 
searchlight,  like  that  of  the  sun,  clear 
and  revealing,  yet  with  a  mellowness 
and  warmth  that  gladdened  the  heart. 
It  was  in  the  hands  of  one  called  Com 
mon  Sense. 

*  By  his  side  so  constantly  he  seemed  a 
sort  of  shadow,  a  sunny  shadow  of  Com 
mon  Sense,  walked  Humor.  They  were 
both  likely,  well-proportioned  people. 
They  had  the  air  of  frequent  travel  to 
gether  and  with  a  third,  the  helpmeet 
of  Humor.  She  never  strayed  far  from 


22  Leader  of  Men 

him.  If  they  were  parted  for  a  moment 
by  the  press,  she  always  slipped  back 
to  his  side.  She  was  a  woman  of  gentle 
ways,  and  though  her  face  was  covered 
with  a  veil,  it  shone  with  a  subdued 
radiance.  Her  name  was  Tears. 

And  ever  threading  in  and  out  of  the 
busy  throng,  like  a  beautiful  melody, 
was  a  bright  spirit  in  rainbow  raiment, 
whom  they  called  Romance. 

After  them,  over  the  threshold, 
passed  another,  a  plainer  group,  my 
friends  of  the  evening  and  the  others 
whose  faces  I  had  recalled, — the  old 
stage-driver  on  the  Montana  trail  who 
had  talked  to  me  roughly  yet  affection 
ately  of  him,  giving  his  name  that  odd 
dialect  twist  one  often  hears  in  our 
North-West ;  the  shoe  salesman  who  had 
on  his  bedroom  walls  five  portraits  of 
his  chief  and  who  lost  so  many  accounts 


Leader  of  Men  23 

in  defense  of  him;  the  little  Italian 
cobbler  whose  hammer  and  awl  had 
seen  his  own  four  boys  through  high 
school,  and  who  thought  him  even  Gari 
baldi's  peer;  a  pathetic  clergyman  pen 
sioner;  and  women,  toilworn  but  of 
unbroken  spirit. 

Three  figures  lingered  on  the  thresh 
old, — a  bent  old  man,  a  bowed  old 
woman,  a  crippled  youth.  I  remem 
bered  their  faces  well.  The  old  man 
was  he  who  so  often  pored  over  that 
letter  with  his  signature,  the  youth  the 
one  who  had  written  from  France, — 
"Why  don't  they  let  him  come?  He's 
worth  fifty  divisions ! " — the  woman,  she 
who  had  given  her  all  for  them. 

Tattered  khaki  clothed  the  younger 
man.  The  old  folks  were  poorly  dressed. 
They  were  quite  a  contrast  to  that 
bright  company. 


24  Leader  of  Men 

Nervously  the  old  man  turned  his 
hat  in  his  hands  as  the  woman  twisted 
her  coat  in  hers.  But  the  young  man 
did  not  seem  afraid.  He  urged  them 
forward. 

"Come  on,  father,  it's  all  right,"  he 
said. 

Disturbed  from  his  reverie,  the  host 
arose  and  greeted  the  more  distin 
guished  guests  as  if  they  were  friends 
who  long  had  had  the  freedom  of 
that  household.  But  when  Tenderness 
slipped  in  her  quiet  way  to  his  side  and 
whispered  to  him,  he  saw  the  three  still 
lingering  by  the  door. 

The  throng  parted  to  let  him  through. 
He  hurried  to  the  threshold  and  clasped 
the  boy  in  his  arms,  then  the  woman, 
and  the  old  man.  He  welcomed  them 
as  if  they  of  all  his  guests  were  the  most 
honored.  And  the  chivalrous  visitors 


Leader  of  Men  25 

waited  on  them,  until  the  shyness  of 
the  three  vanished  and  their  faces 
shone. 

After  that  there  was  talk  of  a  journey 
among  the  distinguished  folk.  They 
noticed  that  their  host  was  weary.  He 
needed  rest,  they  said. 

He  did  seem  worn.  The  short-sighted 
but  ever  eagle  vision  was  failing.  Some 
how  he  looked  as  those  noble  antlered 
heads  upon  the  wall  must  have  looked 
after  the  long  battle,  and  just  before 
they  fell. 

He  asked  the  company  to  stay  with 
him  for  the  night,  adding  that  he  would 
be  ready  in  the  morning. 

Then  for  the  first  time  they  were 
aware  of  a  new  presence  in  the  room, 
one  who  had  passed  over  the  threshold 
after  all  the  others.  It  was  a  vague 
figure,  strange  yet  familiar,  with  noise- 


26  Leader  of  Men 

less  step  and  mien  not  at  all  foreboding 
but  reposeful. 

"  We  must  start  to-night,"  the  pres 
ence  said.  "There  is  no  need  of 
pack  or  passage-fare,  where  we  are 
going." 

There  was  utter  finality  in  the 
stranger's  tones.  When  he  had  finished 
no  one  spoke.  None,  mortal  or  im 
mortal  there,  could  gainsay  that  com 
mand. 

So  through  the  doorway  they  passed, 
in  twos  and  threes,  the  last  visitor  lead 
ing  the  way,  with  Courage  not  far  be 
hind.  The  great  man  waved  the  rest 
ahead,  then  followed  himself,  his  arms 
around  the  old  man  and  the  crippled 
youth,  the  woman  walking  at  their  side. 

On  the  shore  he  left  them.  They 
waved  to  him  as  those  who  say  farewell 
but  for  a  little  while.  Then  in  the  van 


Leader  of  Men  27 

of  the  shining  figures  on  over  the  moon- 
path  he  went. 

It  led  to  some  far  off  place  where 
there  were  new  peaks  to  climb,  new 
trails  to  follow.  Their  outlines  I  could 
not  distinguish.  They  were  steep  yet 
very  fair. 

Then  the  door  closed  upon  the  moon- 
path  and  it  was  dark  for  me.  An  un 
seen  hand  tore  off  the  last  leaf  from  the 
calendar  on  the  wall. 

The  uncovered  figures  read : 

January  6th 

So  fled  the  dream  and  I  awoke.  But 
still  through  the  daylight  hours  the 
figures  of  that  noble  company  passed 
before  me  in  bright  review,  and  at  the 
end,  the  shabby  three,  the  humblest  of 
his  followers,  yet  most  honored  of  all. 


28  Leader  of  Men 

And  it  came  to  me  that  the  vision  had 
little  of  a  dream's  illogic  and  held  much 
of  truth.  Some  mysterious  painter 
in  that  dim  borderland  had  finished 
the  portrait  that  we  around  the  table 
had  so  unconsciously  begun.  For  all 
its  broad  colors  and  simple  allegory  it 
was  like  life,  as  we  his  followers  knew 
him,  with  the  sturdy  composition  of 
fact  and  Rembrandt  glimpses  of  the 
soul. 

It  was  mellowed  by  sentiment,  for  we, 
the  plain  householders,  the  private 
citizens  of  the  Earth,  are  sentimental. 
So  are  all  great  majorities.  And  nor 
mal  sentiment  is  not  so  vain  a  thing. 
It  is  clear  oxygen,  which,  uniting  with 
our  souls,  kindles  the  warming  fire, 
sometimes  the  flame  of  emotion  that 
sweeps  the  world.  It  has  started  great 
crusades.  It  has  made  history. 


Leader  of  Men  29 

he  was  supreme,  not  for  deeds 
which  History  will  record,  but  for  the 
reactions  to  his  soul  of  millions  now 
alive  and  millions  yet  to  walk  the  land 
he  loved.  These  reactions  were  those 
of  emotion,  of  sentiment,  though  as 
singularly  direct  as  the  glance  of  his 
eyes  before  they  were  dimmed,  a  year 
ago.  It  was  through  sentiment  that 
he  was  great.  It  was  through  us  that 
he  was  great.  x 

Again  the  friends  gathered  around 
the  table.  We  talked  of  the  dream  and 
what  it  meant.  And  the  writer,  with  a 
poetry  the  rest  of  us  could  never 
achieve,  exclaimed: 

"What  manner  of  man  was  this? 
What  rare  strange  personality  that 
could  so  diffuse  itself  throughout  a 
land,  over  a  world?'* 

The  answer  we  could  never  reach, 


30  Leader  of  Men 

but  in  our  search  we  learned  the  truth 
the  vision  held,  summed  up  together 
the  things  he  meant  to  us. 
There  were  many: 

^* 

Perhaps  in  the  beginning  he  captured 
us  by  the  romance  coloring  his  life  as 
much  as  by  his  courage  and  honesty. 
Romance  at  first  in  its  accepted  sense- 
then  in  its  higher.  */- 

Children  of  men  are  ever  held  by 
stories,  by  living  ones  most  strongly  of 
all.  As  the  years  passed  we  watched 
his  swiftly  and  splendidly  unfold.  Long 
ago,  while  he  was  still  commissioner  in 
New  York,  we  picked  him  for  the  hero 
of  a  stirring  drama  to  be  played  on 
some  vast  stage.  And  soon  through 
the  press  and  many  books,  we  grew 
familiar  with  the  earlier  years. 

We  were  glad  that  he  was  an  aristo 
crat,  he  the  true  democrat,  that  he 


Leader  of  Men  31 

overcame  the  handicap  of  wealth.  He 
was  a  human  link  between  orders. 
Paradoxically  he  bridged  the  gulf  be 
tween  caste  and  caste  more  quickly 
than  if  he  had  come  from  the  plough 
or  loom.  • 

We  were  glad  of  his  weak  boyhood, 
wrought  into  power  by  fixed  purpose, 
of  his  young  manhood  at  college  and 
on  the  plains. 

And  though  our  feet  could  never 
climb  that  trail,  our  eyes  followed  him 
from  peak  to  peak.  We  rendered  him 
homage,  admired  him,  fondly,  as  the 
puny  brother  the  stronger  on  the  ath 
letic  field.  Often  we  chuckled  with  de 
light.  "We  told  you  so,"  we  would 
say,  "we  knew  he  could  do  it." 

Yet  his  was  not  the  ideal  figure  for 
romance.  Stoutish  and  stocky  was 
his  frame,  his  neck  and  shoulders  like 


32  Leader  of  Men 

a  pugilist's.  Sometimes  when  he 
grew  intense  his  voice  was  rasping, 
shrilling  into  a  falsetto.  His  eyes  were 
short  of  sight,  even  in  youth,  and  later 
one  was  blind. 

But  that  frame  had  the  poise  and 
alertness  of  a  thoroughbred  race,  a 
mighty  thunder  that  voice,  those  eyes 
the  eagle's  vision.  In  life  they  were 
weapons  of  the  spirit,  piercing  as 
swiftly  to  the  false  heart  as  his  mind 
to  a  problem's  core. 

And  as  we  gaze  on  his  pictures,  above 
our  desks,  upon  our  walls,  even  in 
death  we  know  those  eyes  still  seek  new 
trails  towards  far-off  shining  goals. 

As  we  look  again,  we  see  that  that 
head  had  a  sturdy  human  cast,  unlike 
those  of  the  elder  statesmen,  which 
often  resemble  the  stone  faces  of  the 
mountain,  austere  and  aloof. 


Leader  of  Men  33 

The  fingers   are  short   and   stubby.^ 
Upon  the  chair  his  hand  rests,  tightly 
closed  even  in  repose. 

His  gestures  were  simple.  TJhey 
were  short  .....  and  swift  and  typical  of  his 
time.  AsJiis  .mind  in  action,  they  fol 
lowed  the  straight  line.  To  Euclid 
they  would  have  seemed  beautiful. 

The  force  behind  them,  tee,  was  like 
hisjige.  A  powerful  motor  drove  them. 
But  back  of  that  superb  machine  were 
immortal  fires,  which  never  were 
banked,  never  burned  low. 

His  deeds,  unstudied  as  they  were, 
had  all  that  grace,  that  color  of  rom 
ance  his  person  lacked.  Already  they 
words.  and,  like  ancient 


sagas,  will  be  told  wherever  men  read 
books,  casting  the  still  more  potent 
spell  of  truth.  While  he  lived  it  was 
hard  even  for  poets  to  hymn  his  achieve- 


34  Leader  of  Men 

ments.  T^hey  were  arrow  flights,  right 
ly  aimed  and  timed,  too  swift  for  song 
to  follow.  ^ 

So  we  were  held  captive  by  the  rom 
ance  of  his  life,  that  in  the  accepted 
sense,  but  more  strongly  by  the  higher, 
the  romance  of  the  spirit.  And  this 
means  neither  perilous  journey  of  the 
body  nor  far  adventure  of  the  soul  but 
cleaving  to  duty.  Duty  touched  with 
splendor!  The  earthworm  given  wings 
of  achievement ! 

We  gloried  in  his  strength  the  more 
because  he  held  his  body  but  as  an  in 
strument,  welded  by  discipline  to  trip 
hammer  force  and  sharpened  to  keenest 
edge.  We  are  not,  as  the  "idealists" 
would  have  it,  lean  spirits  toying  with 
mists  in  some  mysterious  realm.  We 
still  have  mortal  frames,  still  toil  in  a 
human  world.  The  truth  that  is  good 


Leader  of  Men  35 

for  the  soul  to  conceive,  the  lips  to 
utter,  is  worth  the  body's  struggle. 
*^o  other  had  so  many  points  of  con 
tact  with  life,  yet  he  was  never  the 
dilettante,  always  proficient — never 
feverish,  always  well-ordered.  None 
pitted  mind  against  so  many  and  di 
verse  and  held  respect.  None  rubbed 
elbows  with  such  crowds  and  kept  their 
love.  * 

It  was  sometimes  hard  to  see  how  one 
could  be  so  varied,  so  intense  and  not 
grow  feverish.  His  seeming  impulsive 
ness  bewildered  us  at  first — the  vet 
eran  guide  has  killed  his  game  while 
the  untrained  still  fumble  with  their 
magazines. 

Yet  he  himself  has  said  he  was  only  a 
normal  man,  making  the  utmost  of  his 
powers.  Though  this  be  the  under 
valuing  of  talent,  it  is  in  a  measure  true. 


36  Leader  of  Men 

And  in  this  he  was  the  great  exemplar 
for  those  who,  envying  the  winged  feet 
of  genius,  murmur  at  the  steepness  of 
the  climb. 

In  every  memory,  every  estimate,  it 

was    his    courage    and honesty.- that 

counted  most.  His  s  uprenie_.poss.es- 
sion  of  these  two  things  is  now  allowed 
by  even  his  enemies.  Discussion  of 
them  is  trite,  trite  as  talk  of  the  Ele 
ments,  which  he  himself  resembled. 
But  we  leaned  on  him  heavily  because 
of  these.  In  an  age  that  praised  the 
trophy,  not  the  fairness  of  the  race, 
sheer  honesty  in  one  who  led  meant 
much. 

But    all    the    sterling    virtues    that 
marked    him    would    have    blundered 
without   common   sense,   the   plainest, 
the  most  divine  of  gifts. 
/'With  this  he  attacked  big  problems 


Leader  of  Men  37 

as  simply  as  the  small,  with  a  little 
more  of  concern,  of  will,  but  with  the 
same  sureness,  the  same  forthrightness. 
Read  his  letter  of  June  the  eleventh, 
nineteen  hundred  and  five,  written  to 
one  of  his  sons  at  school.  The  settling 
of  a  great  war  and  the  fortunes  of  mil 
lions  becomes  as  simple,  told  to  a  boy, 
as  a  quarrel  over  a  farmer's  fence. 

And  these  last  sad  years  when  so 
much  of  the  world  was  misruled  by 
charlatan  and  demagogue — a  sight  for 
the  wrath,  the  laughter,  the  pity  of 
God  Himself — it  was  this  same  gift  to 
His  chosen  leader,  which  alone  could 
have  brought  order  from  chaos,  and 
which,  though  for  a  time  he  was  re 
jected  of  men,  did  much  to  save  the 
world. 

This  more  than  any  of  the  older 
epochs  is  the  age  of  the  common  man. 


38  Leader  of  Men 

The  average  of  intelligence,  of  power 
has  risen.  The  gulf  between  leader 
and  people  has  shrunk.  The  valor  of 
the  plain  soldier,  the  might  of  the  pri 
vate  conscience  told  in  this  last  war  as 
never  before.  But  we  will  always 
have  need  of  captains.  He  gathered 
those  of  right  mind  but  wandering 
leaderless.  He  was  the  man  on  horse 
back  at  the  crossing  of  three  roads.  A 
nation  walked  in  indifference  up  the 
middle.  He  swung  them  to  the  right 
and  to  the  charge,  &*•  ' 

How  his  heart  burned  to  go  with 
them,  on  into  the  battle!  He  was  re 
jected  again.  Yet  long  after  their 
generals  with  all  their  stars  are  dust  he 
will  lead  a  mightier  army  than  that 
denied  to  him  then. 

Again  we  are  thankful  that  he  held 
the  light  so  long  without  revealing  one 


Leader  of  Men  39 

fatal  flaw.  Long  and  far  they  camped 
on  his  trail,  only  to  come  home  without 
the  quarry;  searched  this  record  and 
that^loJind  no  blot.  It  is  a  source  of 
mirth  for  which  we  should  be  grateful 
in  a  tragic  world. 

'"Mistakes  there  were,  for  he  was  hu- ^ 
man,  failings  of  temperament,  for  every 
virtue  casts  its  fault-shadow. 

But  the  egoism  with  which  he  was 
charged  was  often  tmt  the  steel-harden 
ing  of  purpose — the  temper,  the  bright 
fire^of  courage  flaming  high. 

Often  misread  were  his  appeals  to  the 
crowds.  They  were  not  theatric.  He 
had  the  leader's  technique,  of  course. 
Some  of  his  "gestures"  were  designed, 
not  by  a  wily  histrionism  but  by  com 
mon  sense  and  a  decent  understanding 
of  men.  More  were  as  unconscious  as 
the  motions  of  the  stag,  the  lion,  of  all 


4°  Leader  of  Men 

creatures  close  to  universal  springs. 
He  loved  crowds,  their  finer  passions. 
He  knew  their  need  for  great  crusades. 

They  called  him  by  a  familiar  name. 
It  is  often  a  politician's  hail-fellow  trick 
to  make  some  puppet  popular.  For 
him  it  was  the  accolade  of  youth. 

He  could  laugh  at  himself.  That 
chuckle  was  never  the  symptom  of 
pride.  His  humor  was  proof  of  his 
sanity,  his  instant  sizing  of  the  situa 
tion,  his  unerring  sense  of  proportion. 
It  tingled  with  the  zest  of  life,  though  it 
had  not  the  mellowness  of  one  close  to 
the  soil,  like  Lincoln.  Nor  was  it  so 
much  a  refuge  from  care.  His  flashes 
were  passing  sparks  struck  out  as  he 
rode.  I  n  his  comments  or  retorts,  often 
as  smashing  as  his  blows,  we  always  felt 
the  grim  satisfaction  of  a  fighter's 
partisans  at  the  ringside.  They  were 


Leader  of  Men  41 

often  literal  executions,  like  his  com 
parison  of  an  editor  libeling  the  valor, 
not  of  himself  but  of  his  sons,  to  the 
lowest  of  crawling  things  upon  a  marble 
floor.  There  were  two  choices  he  said, 
crushing  the  insect  or  sparing  it  and — 
the  floor. 

Those  equipped  to  advise  he  heeded. 
His  councilors  tell  of  their  constant 
welcome.  But  the  sights  once  fixed,  he 
tried  no  new  aim.  The  too-listening 
ear  palsies  the  fighting  arm. 

Never,  as  the  near  great,  did  he  fear 
surrounding  himself  with  rivaling 
minds.  He  loved  their  stimulus — and 
his  country  needed  them.  No  Achilles, 
sulking  in  his  tent  was  he.  He  could 
lose  himself  in  a  cause. 

In  his  admirations  he  was  generous, 
not  only  of  the  famous  in  the  fields  of 
his  recreations,  but  of  those  who  might 


42  Leader  of  Men 

be  thought  competitors.  He  often  said 
that  a  successor  at  Albany  made  a 
\  \  better  Governor  than  himself.  *"""" 

Surely  in  that  volume  of  letters  to  his 
children,  which  should  endure  longer 
than  all  his  formal  works,  there  shine 
the  touching  humility,  the  childlike 
nature,  which  mark  true  greatness. 

When  new  to  the  political  game  he 
sometimes  trusted  too  much,  when 
older  and  wiser,  he  used  those  of  false 
standards  for  a  purpose,  and  gave,  them 
respect  for  some  rich  vein  threading 
their  dark  natures  with  gold.  No  army 
ever  marshaled  burns  with  pure  patri 
otic  fire.  Many  are  conscripts,  many 
soldiers  of  fortune.  It  is  sufficient  for 
the  battle  ahead  that  they  are  in  the 
ranks,  marching  forward. 

Not  all  of  his  critics  bore  malice. 
Some  were  well-meaning.  At  such  a 


Leader  of  Men  43 

time  he  hurt  some  prejudice — we  have 
yet  to  find  a  definite  grievance.  They 
still  view  him  through  the  smoke  of 
forgotten  campaigns. 

And  how  the  ranks  of  his  detractors 
have  dwindled !  Too  great  a  shrinkage 
to  be  laid  to  common  chivalry  for  the 
dead.  Perspective  has  come  very 
swiftly  after  his  passing.  Even  ac 
cepting,  without  defense,  all  the  evi 
dence  they  bring,  it  is  so  pitifully  small. 

Specks  on  the  Sun! 

Though  he  was  typical  of  his  time 
they  called  him  old-fashioned.  They 
laughed  at  his  truisms.  Gold,  too,  is 
old-fashioned — and  salt  and  sunlight 
and  the  rocks  of  the  eternal  hills. 

On  old  ideals,  old  truths  he  based  his 
life,  while  choosing  new  for  superstruc 
ture.  He  honored  and  observed  the 
normal  rules.  He  did  not  scorn  the 


44  Leader  of  Men 

Church.  Creeds  wear  out.  Hypocrites 
enter  her  walls.  There  is  still  conse 
cration  there.  Nor  scorned  he  the 
oldest  of  books.  It  is  a  quarry  of 
eternal  truth  for  the  new  temples  of 
to-day. 

Or  in  another  way  he  knew  that 
some  at  least  of  our  beliefs,  some  con 
ventions  of  our  social  order,  are  but 
smooth  bearings  on  which  the  wheels  of 
Progress  move  the  more  swiftly  to  the 
goal. 

So  it  was  good  to  have  in  some  shin 
ing  life  the  reaffirmation  of  our  faith. 

And  it  is  a  thing  for  profound  grati 
tude  that  we  are  not  forced  to  plead, 
as  for  other  leaders,  the  sum  of  benefits 
conferred  upon  the  race  against  grave 
moral  offenses. 

It  is  vain  to  say  that  art  and  state 
craft  have  no  concern  with  morals. 


Leader  of  Men  45 

Under  the  spell  of  exotic  beauty,  the 
glamor  of  some  high  deed,  it  is  often 
argued  so.  But  there  is  a  sense  of  loss, 
of  final  futility,  when  the  great  fail  us 
in  fundamental  things,  for  which  no 
lovely  creation,  no  new  empire  can 
atone. 

Had  he  left  us  no  other  legacy,  we 
would  still  be  rich  in  the  memory  of  his 
home.  The  chivalry,  the  unceasing 
love  with  which  he  enfolded  his  own,  is 
a  beacon  to  light  a  world  chafing  at 
divine  laws. 

^Thtrt  was  no  parade  about  this. 
His  home  was  a  holy  place.  In  it  he 
found  peace.  When  he  was  free  from 
the  cares  of  state,  his  wife  was  his  com 
panion,  around  the  hearth  and  when 
he  walked  the  ways  of  Nature  whom  he 
loved  most,  after  his  fellowmen.  He 
was  boyishly  proud  of  her.  To  the 


46  Leader  of  Men 

last,  young  love  never  died  out  of 
his  heart. 

He  was  the  chum,  the  confidant  of 
his  children.  He  romped  in  their  child 
ish  plays,  he  shared  their  little  griefs. 
When  he  advised  them  as  young  men 
and  women,  he,  the  great  Leader, 
offered  his  counsel  humbly,  suggesting 
the  course  which  seemed  best  to  him, 
but  leaving  the  choice  to  them.  And 
he  always  expressed  his  pride  in  each, 
his  fullest  confidence  that  whatever  the 
choice  it  would  always  square  with  right. 

He  realized  that  we  are  never  free 
until  in  bonds.  He  valued  the  beauti 
ful  interdependence  of  human  souls  in 
the  old  relationships,  which  make  life 
livable  and  fair.  Against  the  lax  at 
titude  and  the  more  active  forces  which 
threaten  these  divine  balances  of  our 
faulty  scheme  he  preached  and  fought. 


Leader  of  Men  47 

He  was  Cosmos  expressed  in  a  human 
personality  as  so  many  clamoring  to 
day  are  Chaos. 

And  though  he  enfolded  his  own  with 
love,  he  did  not  hold  them  from  the 
common  strife.  "  Spend  and  be  spent " 
was  his  motto  and  he  would  not  spare 
his  own.  As  one  of  us,  a  splendid 
woman  of  his  own  heroic  mold  said, 
"•If  we  love  our  own  truly  we  want  the 
best  for  them." 

And  oh,  the  human  tenderness  of 
him!  The  old  servant  can  tell  of  that, 
who  found  him  in  the  stable,  his  arms 
around  the  old  pet  pony.  They  said 
he  was  hard  the  day  before,  when, 
after  the  cable  came,  he  went  up-state 
to  face  the  Convention.  They  never 
knew  his  heart,  never  saw  his  tears. 
Only  that  old  servitor  and  the  ancient 
pony  knew,  as  he  wept  for  his  boy. 


48  Leader  of  Men 

His  youngest  born,  who,  on  the  fields 
of  France,  in  death  gave  immortal  life 
to  the  father's  ideal ! 

To  change  an  old  adage  in  letter 
though  not  in  spirit,  "By  their  follow 
ers  shall  ye  know  them." 

Through  forty  years  he  has  held  his. 
The  personnel  has  a  high  average.  It  is 
of  sound  stock  and,  in  the  sterling  sense 
of  that  term,  American  or  American  in 
the  making.  They  are  not  all  young. 
The  middle-aged,  the  very  old  followed 
his  trail.  Women  looked  upon  him  as 
their  champion  and  children  loved  him. 

Some  false  prophets  have  held  their 
peoples  faithful  over  many  years.  But 
they  promised  enjoyment,  preferment, 
ease.  Our  leader  led  over  a  hard  road. 

There  was  not  the  frenzy  of  the  old 
crusades  in  this.  Intensely  sane  and 
practical  were  the  tasks  he  set,  but 


Leader  of  Men  49 

made  beautiful  by  singleness  of  purpose 
and  harmony  with  divine  laws. 

This  has  ever  been  an  uneasy  world. 
To-day  the  high  tide  of  restlessness 
threatens  as  never  before  to  engulf  us. 
Some  say  that,  had  he  been  spared,  he 
would  have  built  new  bulwarks  against 
that  tide.  That  is  conjecture.  Some 
times  the  old  leader  in  his  generation 
spends  his  endeavor.  Perhaps  after 
sixtyyearsof  warfare  with  the  old  he  has 
not  the  strategy  for  the  new.  Perhaps 
he  had  served  his  purpose. 

But  of  one  thing  we  are  sure,  that  if 
he  were  here  to-day  in  the  strength  of 
his  prime,  he  would  acquire  that  strate 
gy,  would  wage  this  later  battle  to  a 
victorious  close.  His  spirit  had  that 
mettle  which  alone  can  make  weapons 
and  implements  for  any  age.  It 
was  mettle  divine.  So  we  can  face 


5°  Leader  of  Men 

the  stoim,  strong  and  serene  in  his 
memory  and  in  the  memory  of  the 
Leader  he  himself  followed. 

Already  the  romance  of  his  life  is  fast 
turning  into  a  legend,  more  swiftly 
after  his  passing  than  with  any  of  the 
old  heroes  of  story  or  song.  It  is  a 
nobler  legend  than  any  tale  of  physical 
prowess  or  courage  alone,  for  it  is  a 
vital  far-reaching  influence  like  the 
might  of  the  sunlight.  Every  day, 
everywhere  is  asked  the  question  by 
earnest  souls  seeking  for  the  truth: 

"What  would  he  have  done?" 

It  is  a  moral  hypothesis  more  often 
propounded  about  this  leader  than  any 
other,  save  Lincoln  and  the  Founder 
of  Christianity  Himself. 

He  was  moral  force  incarnate,  now 
that  influence  is  immortal. 

It  is  not  the  heights  to  which  he  has 


Leader  of  Men  51 

gone  that  lend  enchantment.  The 
mountain  was  as  much  a  source  of 
strength,  when  on  its  sides  we  saw  the 
riven  trees  and  scarring  gulches,  as  when 
now  we  lift  our  eyes  to  it,  soft  in  the 
purple  distance. 

And  History  will  not  discount  our 
estimate  so  much.  When  the  tale  is 
told,  here,  in  his  following,  you  will  find 
his  true  measure. 

For  the  aggregate  vision  of  crowds — 
not  the  mobs  of  a  moment  but  the 
crowds  of  a  generation — does  not  err. 
It  is  terrible  and  keen.  Littleness 
masking  as  greatness  cannot  survive  its 
fierce  light.  In  its  flame  the  slighter 
faults,  which  to  his  critics  are  the  whole 
habit  of  this  man,  shrivel,  and  before 
our  eyes  he  emerges*  in  his  true  majesty 
of  soul. 

This  is  the  leader  we,  the  average 


52  Leader  of  Men 

men,  the  plain  and  the  unlettered, 
knew.  In  life  we  loved  him,  followed 
him,  fought  through  him.  It  seemed 
to  us  at  times,  almost  as  if  each  red 
corpuscle  in  that  mighty  organism,  in 
action  represented  and  strove  for  some 
one  of  his  followers. 

It  is  strange  the  way  Life  has!  It 
was  just  a  tiny  clot,  which  in  the  des 
tined  second  stilled  that  lion-heart, 
that  great  dynamo  which  energized 
and  lighted  a  world.  .  .  . 

Three  days  after  his  death  I  saw  the 
three— that  bent  old  man,  that  bowed 
old  woman,  the  crippled  youth.  They 
sat  by  the  window  of  their  little  flat. 
It  was  an  unlovely  place  of  grimy  fac 
tories  and  noisy  streets.  The  clock 
struck  two  and  they  went  out  upon  the 
porch,  under  a  little  flag  that  fluttered 
at  half-mast. 


Leader  of  Men  53 

Then  in  that  moment  when  the  life 
of  the  great  city  paused  for  a  few  heart 
beats,  as  the  great  man  was  borne  to 
his  last  resting-place,  I  saw  them  rise. 
The  young  man  dropped  his  crutch  and 
stood  as  soldiers  stand  when  the  gun- 
carriage  with  their  comrade,  their  loved 
captain,  slowly  passes.  The  old  man 
straightened,  baring  his  gray  head  to 
the  wind.  Between  them  stood  the 
woman,  who  too  had  kept  the  faith. 
So  they  faced  the  flag — and  the  West. 

It  was  a  moment  forever  memorable, 
for  then  I  saw  writ  on  those  three  plain 
faces  the  love  a  nation  bore  him.  . 

Still  we  do  not  mourn  so  much.  We 
are  glad  that  for  sixty  years  we  had 
him.  His  work  was  done.  Someone, 
we  do  not  yet  know  who,  will  put  on  his 
armor,  take  up  his  sword. 

A    figure     ancient    as    Time — and 


54  Leader  of  Men 

Truth!  For  struggle,  with  restful 
pauses  of  peace,  is  and  for  infinite  ages 
will  be  the  way  of  the  universe.  Our 
earthly  wars  are  but  the  translation  of 
that  changeless  law  into  terms  of  the 
flesh.  They  are  sometimes  necessary, 
often  needless,  and  always  cruel. 
Heaven  speed  that  era  when  they  shall 
cease!  But  the  wars  of  the  spirit  will 
go  on,  the  armies  of  light  arrayed 
against  the  powers  of  darkness,  until 
that  last  battle,  whose  field  and  hour 
no  man  may  know. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  a  brave 
warrior  of  the  body,  he  was  the  might 
ier  warrior  of  the  soul. 

His  life  was  a  chord  of  many  notes, 
blending  in  noble  harmony,  like  the 
brass,  the  strings,  the  wind  in  Bee 
thoven  symphonies — militant,  conquer 
ing,  glorious!  Its  music  is  not  mute. 


Leader  of  Men  55 

It  still  echoes  round  the  world,  sound 
ing  the  forward  march  for  the  souls  of 
men  to  that  nobler  warfare — to  victory 
— to  peace.  s 


14  DAY 


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14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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